End Game: A Gamer Romance Page 3

“Who?” she asks.

  “Date Guy Number Six.”

  “Oh, nothing. I didn’t hear from him again.”

  “Really? You surprise me,” says Cole with a laugh.

  “Do I?” Her brow furrows. “I mean, I wouldn’t bother contacting a date who ran away.”

  “I’m being sarcastic. You take the world way too literally, Erin.” Cole shakes his head. “Drink?”

  “Sure!”

  Cole slides from his chair and his tall figure crosses the bar. I once crushed on the guy, most girls in our school did. The guy was, and is, effortlessly and cluelessly attractive with his deep brown eyes and sculpted features—not to mention the equally perfect body thanks to his place on the local soccer team. He left us to be impossibly perfect in other ways by training to be a teacher and heading to remote communities for a year. Now he’s back, and rejoined our group.

  “Can you not see it?” I ask her.

  “What? Where?” She twists her head from side to side.

  “Cole. He wants to be more than friends with you. Always did.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m glad he’s back though, I missed my friend and confidante.”

  “You’re back to spending a lot of time together,” I remark.

  “Of course. Plus he lives with my brother, I see him all the time.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Uh huh, what?”

  “I wish one of you would make a move. Five years is a ridiculous amount of time.”

  “Exactly. If we had romantic feelings for each other, I think it would’ve happened.”

  I’ve spoken to Cole about this too, and he denies it, hands down. Who knows? But I think Erin deserves a guy who’s nicer than the losers she keeps meeting. Not that I have much success with guys myself. Obviously.

  Cole returns with another jar and bottle, which I pick up to examine the label. “Another horrible beer I haven’t heard of.”

  “I like it.”

  Erin takes a tentative swig from the bottle and sticks her tongue out. “Yuk. Tastes really bitter. Like yeast.” She grabs her drink and swills her mouth with it.

  “After drinking that super sweet excuse for a drink, it would do,” he replies.

  Kai faces away from me, chatting to a girl I don’t recognise. He doesn’t introduce us but that isn’t unusual because the girls don’t stay around long. He and Erin share the same facial symmetry that equals beauty—same olive green eyes and thick dark hair. Erin’s tumbles down her back, Kai has close-cropped, longer on top like most guys I come across. Tyler’s and Cole’s hair is lucky to see a comb more than once a month.

  A guy walks through the door and I resist my first instinct to hide under the table. Marshall. With a girl. Well, there goes the idea that him not contacting me was because he’s too busy. Evidently busy—but not in the way I thought, judging by his hand on the girl’s ass. As they stand at the bar I cringe—his hand isn’t on her ass but roaming it.

  Excuse me, Evie, but why the hell did you let that hand on you?

  “Oh, fuck,” I mutter.

  Marshall has mastered the art of dressing down but still looking dressed up. I swear I glimpsed rows of colour co-ordination in his open wardrobe.

  The problem is he knows how to dress to impress and Jesus did my hormones know about it. Unfortunately, his sexual prowess did not match up to the image of perfection in front of me.

  Some guys base their lovemaking on the porn they watch too much of. Lovemaking? Ha. Seriously, ‘making love’ is the phrase this guy used on me, but clothes off and we’re talking downright selfish, dirty fucking. No eye contact, nothing. Which is difficult if he’s slamming into me from behind. I haven’t seen much porn, but it was as if he followed a script. Marshall took a shower straight after, so I curled up under his expensive cotton sheets, half-expecting him to strip the bed and send me home.

  “What’s wrong?” asks Erin.

  “Marshall,” I whisper, eyeing the guys at the table for their reactions. They carry on their conversation, oblivious.

  “Can you please enlighten me why you fell for his bullshit and into his bed?”

  And that question is the one circling my mind since I woke up in his bed and wanted to get the hell out as quickly as possible.

  I rub a finger along the condensation on my glass. “The first time I met him, he smelt nice.”

  “Smelt nice? And that’s your criteria?”

  “One of. He hits a few items on my list. Want to hear them?”

  “You’re odd. Go on.”

  “One, smells nice, obviously. Two, forearms.” I point at mine. “Don’t care about biceps but a nice forearm, mmm. And number three, feet. Not gross feet.”

  “Gross feet?”

  I shudder. “I don’t like feet.”

  “I suspect you weren’t looking at his feet.”

  “And four, jewellery. Hate jewellery on a guy.”

  “You do realise that you are only talking about appearance, Evie? That’s not good.”

  I sip my bourbon and coke. “So? Guys make their decisions based on how a girl looks.”

  “But do you like an intelligent guy, serious conversations, or a funny guy who goofs around? What about how he treats other people…animals?”

  “Now you’re sounding weird. If you hooked up with him, for instance.” I point at the barman, who I swear throws a coy smile in her direction. “Would you have deep and meaningfuls first?”

  “Not deep, but a chat. That’s why I meet up with every guy who contacted me on Tinder so far.”

  “Like an interview? Maybe if you stopped trying to find a complete stranger who ticks boxes, you could naturally meet a decent guy.”

  “Isn’t it easier to find out everything up front? Some guys just hide who they are.”

  I splutter. “And people never hide who they are online, do they?” I shake my head and touch her arm. “Just be careful.”

  “That’s what I tell her,” says Cole in a gruff voice. “There’re a lot of weirdos out there.”

  “Like people who collect kids’ toys?” she asks and cocks a brow at him.

  “What?”

  “Those plastic character thingies.”

  “POP!s? They’re not kids’ toys.”

  “And comics. They’re for kids.”

  Cole opens his mouth and I swear he’s about to protest until the look he gives becomes more despairing than insulted. “I’m just saying, be careful.”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  Cole and me glance at each other. No, but there’s a vulnerable naivety at her edges, one a sweet talker might take advantage of.

  “Well, I can’t be bothered chasing Marshall or anybody,” I say. “I don’t want to become invested in somebody and take on their issues. I’m young, I’ll have fun, and when I’m all grown up, I’ll find a decent guy.”

  I watch Marshall as he turns, holding two drinks, and scans the bar. His eyes rest on the group and the bastard doesn’t even approach to say hello: a quick look in my direction and away again. A surprise pang twists my stomach.

  My intoxicated brain often suggests a one-night with a guy could be fun and no-strings, but the next day I feel awkward and usually wish I hadn’t succumbed. Despite my protests that I don’t want a steady relationship, my romantic life continues to plummet downhill.

  Life is definitely easier in the game. I should stick to finding my thrills in there.

  I study the girl. She should consider climbing out of the window like Erin did, because all she has to look forward to later is the enjoyment of the ‘sex-by-numbers’ Marshall follows.

  Refusing to allow Marshall the satisfaction he’s spoiled my evening, I turn my back to him, and attempt to join in a conversation non-relationship related.

  Five minutes later, unable to distract myself with tales of nights out I don’t attend, I pull out my phone and open the game app again.

  Not only are the herb prices bad, but ore inflation is insane this week. Market cornered, I�
��m in charge of how that part of the game economy goes; my strategies keep the gold rolling in. Nobody matches my skill playing the trading house, but somebody is trying.

  I need to go home and fix this—I’m not being screwed over twice in one week.

  5

  I arrive home, following a stop at the nearest fast food place on the way, and drop the burger and fries next to my computer. Screw the happy, kissy people; I’ll stab some shit instead.

  If only the monsters had Marshall’s face.

  The brightly coloured loading screen pulls me back into the game, where I’m calm and away from the troubles of human interaction. One a.m. Less people I know play this time of night, so the guild should be quiet too. A perfect time to collect resources for making potions or cooking.

  Where should I go first?

  Blue guild chat text appears on my screen as I study the map.

  Thorsday: You’re playing late.

  Sinestre: Wow. You’re online. 3am over there?

  Thorsday: Can’t sleep

  Sinestre: Right

  He’s talking to me out of choice and not necessity? Weird. I open a screen to check who else I know is online. Just Thorsday.

  Thorsday: What you up to?

  I head towards the online city’s exit, ready to take a trip to the Stillmere—herb collecting heaven.

  Sinestre: Farming herbs. You?

  Thorsday: Fishing.

  Sinestre: If that doesn’t send you to sleep I don’t know what else will.

  There’s a pause and I drift into plans for the next hour. Collect. Make. Sell.

  Thorsday: Discord?

  Ironically, the word best suited to our relationship is also the name of the chat server the guild uses.

  Sinestre: Us or chat?

  Thorsday: Lol. Both.

  Drunken curiosity steps in. I click over to log into the voice chat and drag on my headphones.

  “Evening, Sinestre.” His smooth voice drifts into my ears. This guy could narrate ads selling decadent treats, gently persuading women to push expensive ice-creams into their mouths. What does he look like? I’m willing to bet he isn’t a decadent treat.

  “Hey, Thorsday.”

  The guild members who know each other swing between using abbreviations of their character names and real names. We don’t know Thorsday’s name, so to us he’s always Thor. Or Mr. Hemsworth, if he’s not listening.

  “What’cha been up to tonight? Was the night out fun?” he asks.

  “Not really.” I reach for the soda cup and suck the tooth-aching stickiness through the straw. “The usual crew I spend the night with, and people I’d rather avoid.”

  My character reaches the city outskirts and I check my map before riding in the direction of a nearby lake.

  “A guy?”

  “Um.” Discussing my personal relationships with this faceless man? I don’t think so. “Just somebody I don’t want to talk to.”

  “A guy. I presume the one you had fun with the other night.” Thorsday ‘s response is an amused statement. “He hasn’t met the Wrath of Sinestre, then?”

  “Ha ha. A waste of energy.” I spin my character around in circles, grasping for a conversation direction change. “How was your Saturday? Done anything interesting?”

  An alert pops up on screen.

  Thorsday invites you to a group.

  I hesitate, cursor hovering above the ‘accept’ button. It’s one thing to chat as we play, but grouping involves real interaction. We don’t play together unless we raid.

  “Can you visit the Farmlands yet?” he asks.

  “No. Jeez, I think it’s going to take me another six months to gather the resources to allow me entry.”

  “Then I’ll invite you.”

  If only he could see the shocked yet impressed look on my face. Farmlands. An area for maximum level characters only, filled with top-notch, expensive items to sell to other players. The players who achieve landowner status can only invite one guest a day to join them in such wondrous lands. Good thing Thor can’t see my awed face that he invited me, or he’d realise his reputation with me just levelled up.

  I click accept.

  “The portal to Farmlands is—” he begins.

  “—in town, I know.” Because I’ve enviously watched people walk through the swirling gateway portal.

  “See you there. I’m by the lake. Fishing.”

  I step through the portal straight into the brightest, most detailed part of a game world I’ve ever seen. And boy do I see it more clearly than a lot of other players, thanks to my video card. I love my computer. Freaking love it. I mean, I love cute shoes and accessories, but my computer’s build? The best. Top of the range, emptying of the bank account variety.

  Hills roll as far as the eye—graphics card—can see, filled with beasts ready for killing and collecting. Instead of the sparse herbs, there’re rows and rows in the fields. My character wanders along, me with my mouth open as other players ride past, zoning in to collect the items that sell for hundreds of gold in game.

  Music I haven’t heard before filters through, soothing to the point of hypnotic. I spot the lake and my character mounts her horse and gallops over to Thorsday, who sits on the edge of a fishing wharf in front of a shack. The animated fish swim in the water, splashing realistically every few seconds.

  Sinestre waves at Thorsday.

  The water splashes again as a virtual fish bites and he reels it in.

  “This place is freaking awesome,” I say.

  “Pretty, cool, huh? Show you around?”

  The human avatar stands and the rod disappears, replaced with two swords crossed over his back. Seconds later, Thor’s summoned his horse and I struggle to catch up to him as he disappears ahead.

  “Is it true you can pick gold lotus here?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but they’re in the Old Woods surrounded by trolls. Elites. I wouldn’t venture there until you have better armour and can kill them.”

  I bite my tongue. Here we go… I can do more damage than a lot of players who don’t have as high health and hit points as me.

  “And I suppose you have a bag full of lotus, after one-shotting every troll in the area?”

  There’s a pause, before he asks in a quiet voice, “Since it’s only you and me online, can I ask you something?”

  “Depends what it is.”

  “Why are you such a bitch to me?”

  I choke on my drink. “That’s a bit bloody rude.”

  “Every raid. Every time we talk. Tyler says you’re cool in real life. Why the snarky attitude to people in game?”

  “I’m not really snarky, we just tease each other a lot. It’s how the guild operates.”

  “Not me. You rarely talk to me, and when you do, it’s passive aggressive.”

  This. This is bloody weird. If we were face to face, would this man speak as bluntly to me? My character climbs from her horse and away from him, then heads to a nearby patch of red flowers. “Things are stressful. I play to relax with my friends and you kinda spoilt things.”

  “What? How?” he asks.

  “You behave as if you’re superior to everybody else. I deal with enough people like that in my real life.”

  “You mean I threaten you because I’m better at the game?”

  “There you go again!”

  “It’s the truth.”

  Screw him.

  You challenge Thorsday to a duel.

  Thor laughs. “Okay…”

  Please let the game gods be on my side and increase my damage against him. Thorsday accepts, and a second later my character is stunned and unable to cast a spell. The stun breaks and I attempt to cast again. Sinestre summons a storm above Thorsday, and his speed slows. I shield myself with a lightning barrier and run past him, but he hits me with critical damage. The screen flashes red as my health points dive towards zero.

  Holy crap that was quick.

  Three hits from the human Paladin later and the duel’s over; the
elven Sorcerer’s health almost gone.

  Thorsday has defeated Sinestre.

  Silence.

  Sinestre sits and eats to regain health while Thor stands nearby. Without a word, I summon her horse and ride away.

  More silence.

  “Wow, sore loser, much?” he says.

  I click my mic. “I’m drunk, my reflexes were off.”

  “Uh huh.”

  And so, our ceasefire ended in a hail of spells and slashing swords.

  “Go fish,” I say and head towards the darkened fields where the trolls and lotus hide.

  “Are you seriously going there?” he asks, but Thorsday doesn’t follow Sinestre.

  “I bet I have five lotus by the time you log off.”

  “I bet you visit the graveyard a lot too.”

  Half an hour later, I have zero lotus and a huge repair bill, since I die many times at the hands of trolls. I yawn, maybe I should give up for tonight. Thorsday and me haven’t spoken since I stormed off.

  I’m not paying attention as I study my map for the easiest way out of the area, and a roar fills my ears, the edge of my screen flashing red. I close the onscreen map for a clearer view. Whoa.

  Droog the Merciless

  Ogre Elite

  Hostile

  Level 52

  HP +125,000

  This lumbering, ugly creature makes rare appearances in the game, and on this occasion reduces Sinestre’s health to fifty percent in one hit.

  “Shit!” I call, forgetting I’m still on voice chat, and hit the button that turns my character invisible.

  “What’s up?”

  “Bloody Droog.”

  “Serious?” The tiredness in Thorsday’s voice switches to excitement. “You do realise if we kill him there’ll be Fabled level loot on him?”

  “Yes. Elite, though? I was almost killed in one hit.”

  “Wait. Be right there.”

  I’m about to protest I don’t need his help, when my invisibility breaks and my screen flashes red again. I’m back in combat with the huge, ugly, and unfriendly creature looming through the woods. Crap. I run straight and fast to hide behind a tree, hoping to hell Droog doesn’t see and catch me.

  Thorsday laughs at you.

  I turn my character around; Thorsday stands in the trees near me.

  You make a rude gesture at Thorsday.

  “Heal up,” he says. “Use your Resonance spell if it isn’t on cool down and then—”